


Apple Pie Heaven

by j_gabrielle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, cannibals in love, self-indulgent writing, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has no illusion as to the two ways their apple pie heaven will end; either with Will's heart on a platter, or him in chains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple Pie Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent writing on my part. Completely un-betaed. I just got bit and wrote, so I apologise in advance.

“Here.”

Will’s voice draws him from the words on the paper in his hands, and he looks up to see an ice lolly being held out to him. Hannibal sets the page aside with its’ kin and reaches up to accept his gift.

“Thank you.” He says as Will sinks to the space on the blanket beside him. It is a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon in the park, and Hannibal finds himself curiously enjoying their little respite from the almost never ending cases that Crawford has had Will consulting on. Usually he would not even mention the mere idea of consuming the stick of frozen colouring, artificial flavouring and sugar, but this was Will’s gift to him.

In fact, it was Will who had suggested their little outing in the first place. Hannibal licks a piece that melts and slithers down (cherry flavoured, red like blood), chasing the taste on his lips, remembering the way Will stuttered and queried silently with his eyes trained elsewhere as if he feared a rejection to his idea.

As if Hannibal could have said anything but yes.

Hannibal is careful that none of the drippings stain his clothes. He is dressed down; light linen pants and a pale cotton shirt left unbuttoned at the nape. Will is still in one of his plaid shirts, though he has opted for something other than his horrible khakis, for which Hannibal is infinitely glad for. 

Flexing his toes, he finishes the remaining melted bits of his lolly and Hannibal tilts his head towards Will, noting the bruise dark smudges under his tired eyes, the translucence of his skin. His eyes are closed, head tilted to the sky, breathing evenly. Peaceful in a way Will rarely was even at rest. 

Idly, Hannibal wonders what the family sitting a few metres away would say if he were to lean over and rest his hand on Will’s nape, pressing down on that one spot that never fails to reduce him into a languid spread of sin.

As if he has heard Hannibal’s train of thoughts, the younger man turns towards him. His eyes are still sleepy slits and in that moment Hannibal has no other want but the need to pull him close, to fold him next to him and feel his heartbeat. An amused twitch of his Will’s lips is a promise and permission rolled into one.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere amongst the never ending hunt for monsters, hidden in the memories of nightmares and horrors, the hunger that had burnt low in his gut from the moment they met, the creeping beast with the obsession to possess good Will’s heart spurned and spun into a towering inferno. Somewhere between that first meeting, to that first touch of skin and skin that held no innocent intentions, Will became his.

Smiling to himself, he casually brushed his hand against Will’s on the blanket. 

“Hannibal?” Will’s voice is soft. He detects the threads of fear and hopefulness in his Will’s voice. 

“Will.” Hannibal answers, slipping his palm and threading their fingers together. Will does not try to pull away, and Hannibal can’t quite hide the pleasure he feels when Will smiles shyly and slides closer to him.

Hannibal has no doubts that one day the man next to him will figure out that he is one of the monsters he hunts. One day, this little apple pie slice of happiness will crumble into bitter ash and dust. Will is brilliant and Hannibal does not delude himself from that eventual conclusion of their story that would either end with Will’s heart on a platter or him in chains. 

Hannibal is nothing if not a practical man. If he can’t have Will, no one can.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Will says, leaning his head against his shoulder. It is a cliché, but Will is sighing happily, eyes closing and body relaxed once more, and Hannibal cannot bring himself to move. 

Just another moment more, then.

 

[FIN.]


End file.
